Always Raining: alternatives
by Gabi-hime
Summary: An alternate telling of Soujiro's story, starting before the Kyoto arc. A companion piece to Tears and Rain. Set in an alternate continuity.
1. a single twist of fate

Before you read this, you should really read Tears and Rain and I'll do My Crying in the Rain. It is an alternate timeline, but you'll miss out on a lot of the significance of this story if you have no concept of how Kuri and Soujiro's relationship works normally ^^;;  
  
always raining: a l t e r n a t i v e s - o n e  
  
a single twist of fate  
  
by Gabi (gabi@pinkfluffy.net)  
  
I don't mind the sun sometimes, the images it shows.  
  
I can taste you on my lips and smell you in my clothes.  
  
Cinnamon and sugary and softly spoken lies.  
  
You never know just how you look through other people's eyes.  
  
The building was completely dark save for a little hushed moonlight that filtered in through slits in the window coverings. That was quite all right with the young man. He had already studied the layout of the building, and his other senses were sharp enough to compensate for the lack of light.  
  
The lock on the front door had been simple to break, and then he'd simply strode into the front room of the inn as if he were an invited guest and not a hunter with a quarry to bag.  
  
His task tonight was simple, so simple he almost wondered why he'd been sent. There were other assassins who could have taken the job just as easily. There were only a few guards to dispatch. It was nothing that a novice couldn't handle.  
  
But then, the man he was after was a very important police commissioner in the prefecture. The job had been scheduled to the tiniest detail, down to when the bandits would arrive and unwittingly wipe out the evidence of assassination even as they looted the bodies. It was perhaps, he reflected, a good idea that they'd sent him. Any mistakes would just make the whole situation messy. It was always better to stick to the stealth and the shadows and send a professional.  
  
The guards had been child's play, they'd been half dozing against one side of the stable. He'd let his sword play be intentionally sloppy, so that no suspicion would arise if anyone examined the bodies too closely. They'd just look as if they'd been killed by overzealous bandits.  
  
As sloppy as he had allowed himself to be, he had not wasted any time. He had a schedule to keep, after all. He'd slain them all on the first pass, flicking the blood from his katana even as he slid to a stop in the mud of the stable yard. His tabi and sandals were filthy, caked with slimy stockyard mud, but it didn't bother him. Few things bothered him.  
  
The commissioner's room was the first at the top of the stairs. He was simple, clean: beheading. Once again, overzealous bandits had caught him in bed and made short work of him. Just to make things look a little more realistic he mussed the covers of his bed and faked signs of a struggle.  
  
The other rooms on the hall were supposed to be empty. He checked them just to be sure. It was good to be thorough. The rooms were empty, as reported, so that meant there was only one more to take care of in the place. The innkeeper slept downstairs, in a room behind the kitchen. He was making excellent time. He would perhaps be back at their temporary base in time for breakfast.  
  
The innkeeper was sleeping on his stomach, so the first strike was a neat clip to the base of his head with the hilt of his katana. If the innkeeper had been standing, the blow would have dropped him like a sack of potatoes. As it was it merely made him slump still in his bed. After he was sure that the man was quite unconscious, he rolled the bulky man onto his back and then deftly slit his throat without another thought.  
  
There. He was completely finished and there was plenty of time to be away from the inn before the bandits showed up. He folded his arms into his sleeves and was about to leisurely stroll off when he noticed the small doorway underneath the stairs. This stopped him. The small doorway was not on the building plan he'd been given.  
  
His hand drifted out of his sleeve and to the hilt of his katana, and then he reflected. It was probably just a storage closet and that's why reconnaissance had failed to mark it. It was easy to miss, recessed as it was under the stairs. Yes, with a door that small, it had to be a storage closet. He was about to turn and leave the small recessed door under the stairs when he noticed that it was a fraction of an inch open. That settled it. It was best to be thorough.  
  
One hand on the hilt of his katana, he gently eased the door open and crept inside the small cubby behind it. As his eyes adjusted to the further darkness, he crouched and sat back on his heels. This was not what he had expected.  
  
There was a rumpled pile of straw in the corner but that wasn't what drew his attention. Lost in a fitful sleep on top of the straw and tangled in some rags that might have been clothing or some sort of blanket, was a sixteen-year-old girl. She was thin and looked as if she'd been beaten recently. She had to be a servant at the inn. It was the only explanation. She hadn't been on the list of occupants at all. He was going to have to have a talk with the reconnaissance team. Well, there was no damage done, this time, he thought as he drew his katana again. He could easily take care of her.  
  
The katana glimmered dully in the half-light and he studied her for a few moments. Absently, he resheathed it after a time. It felt wrong. He'd do it with his hands instead. It was just a quick twist, then her neck was snapped and his problem was solved. It seemed to him something the bandits would do: kill the only woman with their hands.  
  
He crept across the space between them quietly, so as not to wake her, then ever so gently laid his hands on her neck. She awoke with a start, jerking backwards, but not out of his grip. He firmly covered her mouth before she could scream and his hand on her neck tightened until he was sure that it was no longer comfortable.  
  
She was shaking. She was shaking under his hands like a rabbit, frozen, unable to move. She wasn't even making any noise. He was fascinated. He let his hand drop away from covering her mouth, and she still didn't scream, didn't struggle against the hand on her neck. She just trembled.  
  
"Aren't you afraid?" he asked curiously, his gentle voice like warm cream milk.  
  
She didn't speak, didn't move, didn't make any response at all. He brought his free hand up and lightly stroked her cheek with his fingertips.  
  
Suddenly she slumped under his hand, loose and boneless like a rag doll. He let his hand loosen around his neck and sat back on his heels again and just looked at her. Her skin was soft. She'd never be missed, and even if she was, everyone would assume the bandits had taken her. He was fairly certain that they did that on a regular basis.  
  
He wasn't exactly sure why he wanted her, but he did. Maybe it was because she hadn't screamed. She hadn't even struggled. His ever-present smile twitched in the darkness but there was no one around to appreciate it.  
  
He bound her hand and foot with rags from the straw bed. The temporary camp wasn't that far away, not at the speed he traveled. He could probably get her there before she regained consciousness. Still, it was better to be thorough. He gagged and blindfolded her too, although he tried to pick the cleanest of the rags for that.  
  
He bent and picked her up and tried not to think about it too closely. He had no idea what Shishio would say and he found that he didn't really care. If Shishio said that he could keep her, then it would be his gain. If he said to kill her, then it really wouldn't be his loss. He couldn't lose what he didn't have to begin with.  
  
He slipped out the back door and then was away like a whisper on the breeze, still far ahead of the bandits, even with his delay and his burden. Seta Soujiro was very good at what he did.  
  
*  
  
He wasn't challenged when he arrived back at the base, despite his bundle. The guards knew better than to challenge him. He was the best. He was the first. He was Seta Soujiro and no one challenged him, save perhaps Shishio himself and there was never any call for that. Soujiro was more faithful than any hound could be, and besides, he was well aware of the fact that Shishio was stronger than he was. It wasn't in the sword technique, no. In that they were now even. No, Soujiro somehow deeply and instinctually felt Shishio's dominance. It was force of mood and depth of experience that made Shishio stronger, not the sword form itself, yet it was all the same. Shishio remained the strongest, and Soujiro couldn't imagine anyone ever dethroning him. It was something that he couldn't even conceive of, even when he tried. Years of time at Shisiho's side had taught him exactly how strong the former Ishin hitokiri was. It was a strength that he couldn't even touch.  
  
So he did nothing more than nod or make light comments to the guards he passed. They rarely answered in anything other than salutes. They were quite aware that Soujiro could be as whimsical as Shishio at times and they had all heard the stories of him slaying soldiers on the spot for incompetence, insubordination, weakness, and any number of other reasons. It was the general consensus among the lower guards in Shishio's private army that it was almost never good to attract the attention of Lord Shishio himself and it was probably a signed death warrant to attract the attention of his head assassin and second in command.  
  
He wasn't even challenged at the doors of Shishio's chambers. The guards actually scrambled to open the doors for him as they saw he had his arms full. They cast worried glances about the room and then scurried out and slid the door shut behind them.  
  
Shishio was leaning back against a cushion near the back wall of the room. He had his eyes closed and was puffing on his hookah even as Yumi changed the bandages on his left hand. Soujiro idly strolled across the room and then sat his bundle delicately on the carpeted floor. It was still. Yumi made a small surprised sound when she saw what it was, but Shishio did not bother to open his eyes.  
  
"What," he asked dryly, "is that?"  
  
Soujiro's warm and absent smile didn't waver for a second as he quizzically scratched the back of his head, "It's a girl that I found while I was out last night."  
  
"And why is it here?"  
  
"Well," the boy started and then stopped again if he wasn't sure of the answer himself, "I suppose that I want to keep it."  
  
Shishio opened one eye and looked at him for a moment, then closed it again.  
  
"Maa," Soujiro shrugged, laughing, "I was afraid you'd have that reaction. Well, I suppose I had better dispose of it," he drew his katana without another thought.  
  
"Wait," Shishio laid aside his hookah and leaned further back on his pillow before lazily turning back to Soujiro, "I've been expecting this for a while."  
  
"You have?" asked Soujiro curiously, "Really?"  
  
Shishio nodded, and after a moment, he spoke, "Uncover her face."  
  
Soujiro leaned down and deftly slit the gag and blindfold with a dagger that he produced somewhere in the folds of his sleeves. He balled up the rags and then dropped them in a little pile on the floor. Shishio glanced at her then grunted noncommittally.  
  
"All right, Soujiro. She's yours. I suggest you keep her in your rooms. There's no telling what might happen to her if she went wandering around. She's your responsibility and I expect you to kill her if she becomes a problem."  
  
Soujiro bowed, "Ah, thank you Shishio-san. I'm still not sure why you were expecting this, though."  
  
Shishio laughed, but he didn't sound particularly amused, "You are nineteen and have never expressed any interest in women at all. It was only a matter of time."  
  
Soujiro shrugged and did not press the matter further.  
  
Yumi wrinkled her nose, "She's dirty."  
  
Soujiro nodded.  
  
Yumi's eyes trailed over to his own legs and then she nearly shrieked, "Bouya! You've tracked mud all over my favorite rug!"  
  
Hastily, he hopped backwards off the rug and sweatdropped guiltily, "Gomen ne, Yumi-san."  
  
She put her hands on her hips, "Bouya, think before you ruin anything else expensive."  
  
"Hai, Yumi-san," he took a step backward.  
  
"You take this girl and go get cleaned up. When you're not tracking filth and grime everywhere come back and I'll try and help you find some clothes for her."  
  
"Hai, Yumi-san," he picked up the inert girl again and then hopped backward two more steps, "Will you be needing anything else, Shishio-san?"  
  
"Nothing pressing," Shishio had resumed puffing on his hookah.  
  
"Well then," he glanced at Yumi, who still had her hands on her hips, "I had better be going," he glanced at the mud on the rug, "I'll be back . . . later."  
  
He was gone before Yumi could admonish him any further.  
  
* 


	2. the girl who waits for you in the rain

Before you read this, you should really read Tears and Rain and I'll do My Crying in the Rain. It is an alternate timeline, but you'll miss out on a lot of the significance of this story if you have no concept of how Kuri and Soujiro's relationship works normally ^^;;  
  
always raining: a l t e r n a t i v e s - t w o  
  
the girl who waits for you in the rain  
  
By: Gabi (gabi@pinkfluffy.net)  
  
Between the raindrops  
  
I'll save a prayer for you  
  
So lost and longing to  
  
Be dragged through dirty streets  
  
Wrapped up in clean white sheets  
  
Soujiro had the baths cleared rather efficiently. No one had any mind to argue with him, not even the men he sent scurrying out of the water without a stitch of clothing. In fact, these men seemed the least apt to disagree with him. Being slain for disobedience was one thing, being slain for disobedience while naked was quite another altogether.  
  
Once the bathhouse had totally cleared out he laid his delicate burden on the smooth earthen floor and surveyed her once again. She was quite filthy, clad in rags, a dirty smock that did little more than keep her from being indecent. He doubted the rags could be salvaged. She was definitely going to need something else to wear, but he supposed that he would let Yumi take care of that. He didn't have any sort of idea what would be appropriate. The mysteries of women eluded him, despite the numerous hours he had spent patiently waiting for Shishio in the parlors of various courtesans. This was, of course, before Yumi had entered the picture. Now his daily dose of irrationality and fervor came in a conveniently recurring package.  
  
He breathed the warm, damp air from the hot spring deeply, thoughtfully, and then knelt. If she was going to get clean then he first had to get rid of her filthy clothing. Despite having never been a girl, nor having ever had any experience bathing with one, he was fairly certain that took their clothes off before bathing as well. Well, the girl didn't look like she was coming around any time soon, so he figured he might as well get on with it. Something about the way she lay, splayed helplessly against the wall, made him want to divest her of her clothing as quickly as possible, but he really had no idea why, so he dismissed it absently. He wondered idly if Shishio had also been expecting this.  
  
No matter what his motives, he reasoned, she still needed to be cleaned up before Yumi would even think of clothing her, and before she could be cleaned up, she had to be dressed down. It was as simple as that.  
  
After studying the mottled piece of sackcloth that was the girl's only garment for several minutes he could still not make heads or tails of it. He could see no easy way to get it off of her, so after shrugging for no one's benefit but his own, he produced the dagger that he had used previously to cut her bindings. With a deft movement he slit the sackcloth all the way up the side and then peeled it off, as if it were a shed skin. After nothing more than a cursory glance he left to fetch a bucket of cold water and a cloth to wash her down with.  
  
She had still not come to by the time that he returned, so he wet the cloth in the water and then dabbed her face with it. Even this did not rouse her, so he set about in earnest to wash her face. He was beginning to wonder if she would ever wake up when the muscles of her face twitched suddenly and she slowly opened her eyes. Soujiro leaned in closer, curious to see her reaction.  
  
She was silent for a long, tired second, and the she shrieked.  
  
"HENTAI!"  
  
He anticipated her slap and caught her arms gently, but firmly even as she shrieked and squirmed. This went on for several seconds as he tried his best to quiet her, his soft, unassuming tone doing little to calm her hysterical, warbling cries. He was leaning over her, keeping her arms pinned at her sides even as she fought and flailed against him with all her strength. He moved slightly to lessen the weight he was putting on her arms, and in doing so the smooth silk and cold steel of the hilt of his katana came in contact with her bare stomach.  
  
This seemed to shock some sense into her, and all at once she went still and stopped fighting him.  
  
"You're that boy."  
  
Her voice trembled, even if her body didn't, and suddenly she seemed to think it very prudent to be very still. He supposed that she must finally be getting a feeling for the situation that she was in. He nodded.  
  
"I am," his smile was pleasant, calm and serene.  
  
She was still for several seconds before finally speaking again, "What are you going to do with me?"  
  
He let go of her arms suddenly and rocked back on his heels, "Actually, right now I'm trying to give you a bath, but you would probably be better at that yourself."  
  
She simply stared at him, her mouth hanging slightly open, "You're giving me a bath?"  
  
She didn't seem to fully comprehend the situation so he nodded and attempted to explain, "Yes, you have to admit that you are in need of one. Yumi-san said that she wouldn't even think of getting any clothes for you until you were clean."  
  
Her eyes stayed trained on his katana and he found that he was not altogether happy with this. It was difficult to read her expression when she averted her eyes.  
  
"Sumimasen, please look at me when we're speaking," the soft tone of command came easily to him and he found she obeyed his request instantly, almost against her will. Her eyes were beautiful, he found, despite the fact that they were slightly glazed, a deep and clear shade of green. He dismissed this again. "Beautiful" was a subjective term and had no concrete value. It wasn't something he could quantify, and thus it didn't serve him. The command had brought them into eye contact though, and thus it had served its purpose. He found it much easier to read her face now that it was open to him. She was caught like a rabbit frozen in the sights of a gun.  
  
"Are you afraid that I'll kill you?" he asked, a giggle in his voice as he recalled her tight focus on his katana.  
  
After a steady pause she silently shook her head.  
  
"Amazing," he smiled and seemed truly pleased with how everything was turning out, "But what are you afraid of then, if you aren't afraid that I'll kill you?"  
  
He hadn't let her break eye contact with him the whole time and he had watched her go from stark terrified to confused and lost. She searched his face, looking for something, some way to put her thoughts into words.  
  
When she began, she seemed to be concentrating on just getting the words out in any fashion that made sense, "I'm not afraid that you'll kill me. If you wanted to kill me you could have done that earlier, when I wasn't awake. I'm not afraid of what you'll do to me either, since I'm sure than it can't be any worse than what was going to happen to me tomorrow."  
  
"Today," he corrected, as it was already late morning. Honestly curious, he continued, "What was going to happen to you today?"  
  
She broke eye contact with him and focused all her attentions on the floor, "There's a police commissioner staying there who has a taste for young girls. He grabbed me while I was bringing him his food and I bit him. The innkeeper was outraged and promised he'd have me beaten but the commissioner told him it was all right, that he liked girls that fought," she put her hands over her face and he noticed that she was trembling, "He was going to stay an extra night just so I could 'entertain' him."  
  
"It's all right," he soothed, "You don't have to worry about that any more."  
  
He drew her hands away from her face delicately, and she turned her eyes to his again. Her expression was strange, mixed, and still lost, "Well, at least I think I like you."  
  
He took a moment to digest her words and then laughed out loud, "Maa, I'm not interested in anything like that," he leaned closer to her and then delicately traced the line of her jaw with a fingertip, "I'm not even sure what I have you here for, but, I think I like you too," his smile was pleasant and bland, "If that's any comfort."  
  
She looked even more confused than before, "But then why . . . "  
  
He cut her off, "Am I leaning over you while you lie on the floor naked? I told you, I'm trying to give you a bath, which I'm sure you'll be able to take care of with much greater efficiency than I could. The water's right there and the soaps are in this bucket. The cloth is in the water bucket," he rocked back on his heels again and settled against the wall.  
  
Her eyes widened, "Aren't you going to leave while I bathe?"  
  
He cocked an eyebrow curiously, "Why? Are you afraid I'll see something I haven't already seen?" he asked, gesturing to her state of undress, "I told you, I'm not interested in that."  
  
She seemed to be finally getting a little cross with him, "I don't care if you're interested or not, can't I have a little privacy?"  
  
"It's not good if I leave you alone here," his expression was warm and thoughtful, "If I did, something unpleasant is bound to happen to you. That reminds me, no matter where we go or what we do you must stay right behind me or right where I put you. No wandering around. This is for your own safety," he added this as an afterthought, as if the idea of her being in constant peril if she strayed a step from his side didn't bother him in the slightest.  
  
She shivered but he didn't seem to notice.  
  
"So, it really would be good if you'd just get on with your bath. After you wash yourself there is a very nice hot spring here to soak in."  
  
She rolled her eyes and then rubbed her forehead in frustration, "Alright, alright, I'll get on with it."  
  
She sat up and prepared to fish the cloth out of the water when she noticed his feet.  
  
"And you think I'm dirty?" she put a hand on her hip and then gestured to his feet with the other.  
  
He seemed thoroughly confused by this display until he looked down and caught sight of his own legs, caked with filth and slime.  
  
"Ah! Arigatou. I had completely forgotten about that. I'm sure Yumi-san will complain awfully if I don't clean myself up," he stood without a second thought and left the room without pausing.  
  
Well, she hadn't exactly meant to do that.  
  
"Wait!" she cried, "Didn't you just say that it wasn't safe to leave me alone?"  
  
He laughed easily and she could hear that he was quite close by, "I'm just in the next room. I had this room emptied and sealed before we came in anyway. You shouldn't have any problems, but if you do, just yell and I'll be there."  
  
She heard the rustle of fabric in the next room and found herself blushing deeply. Her heartbeat was going so fast . . . how on earth did she get herself into a situation like this? She swallowed hard and tried her best to concentrate on bathing, despite the fact that she knew he was going through the same motions on the other side of a paper screen.  
  
She still had no idea what he wanted from her, nor apparently, did he. Still, anything was better than the inn, and her treatment here, wherever "here" was, had already been considerably better than any she had received at the inn. She still had no idea how she had come to be "here" rather than at the inn, but she found that she really didn't want to know. She didn't care what had happened to them. In her opinion, whatever happened to them, they deserved. Beyond that, now that they were out of her life, which she sincerely hoped they were, she could care less.  
  
She washed quickly, yet thoroughly, the chill of the water driving her speed even as her hands lingered over the expensive soaps in the bucket. They were all scented like flowers. Idly she wondered if he was washing with flower soaps as well, then dismissed this thought as it just made her body blush creep back.  
  
She washed her hair as well, working the soap into knots that she wasn't sure would come out any other way than with scissors. After a long fight she did manage to get her hair mostly detangled and it hung loose and limp down her back. Finally satisfied with her cleanliness, she stood, covering herself as best she could.  
  
"A-ano, I'm finished."  
  
She had no sooner finished saying this than his head popped around the corner of the screen.  
  
"Very much better," he smiled, despite her discomfort and then he disappeared for a moment.  
  
After some rummaging, he returned to her side of the screen and draped a robe around her shoulders. She was caught in his arms for one long second, an absent, unintended embrace, and then he pulled back, away from her. She found her breath was shaky and irregular at best and wondered what had gotten into her. She barely knew him, why was he, how could he affect her like this?  
  
He turned easily, gracefully, and slid open the door and she noticed that even though robed and fresh from the bath he still carried his katana.  
  
"Follow me closely, please. I wouldn't want to lose you."  
  
She nodded silently, and stuck behind him like glue. Occasionally he would look back over his shoulder to make sure that she was still there. She could make nothing of the idle smiles he gave her at these moments. The guards they passed were clad all in black and they all carried spears and swords. They stood still at attention whenever the boy passed by them, although she could feel their eyes on her whenever she moved. She had no idea where they were, had no idea why they granted the boy such deference. They treated him like he was a general. She could also clearly read the fear in their eyes whenever he glanced in their direction. What had she stumbled into?  
  
"Where are we going?" she asked softly, tugging on his sleeve and glancing furtively at the guards around them.  
  
"To my quarters," he answered simply, "I do need to get some clean clothing. Then I'll take you to see Yumi-san."  
  
She nodded again, and although he couldn't see it, he seemed to take her acquiescence for granted. She hung close to him, and slowly began to relax as she realized that none of the men were any threat to her while she quietly followed the boy in blue. She was about to ask him another question when, silent as a ghost or demon, a shadow dropped on them from above.  
  
He shoved her backwards, out of the way, even as he drew his katana faster than her eye could follow. There was a ring of steel on steel, a counter, and then another clash before the strikes of metal died down into a low, chilling laugh.  
  
"Good morning Usui-san," the boy remarked pleasantly, "Although you have caught me at a bad time."  
  
The girl found she could no longer deal with the surreality of it all and her eyes rolled back into her head. She had, once again, fainted quite dead away. 


End file.
